


While the Rhythm of the Rain Keeps Time

by define_serenity



Series: Uncharted [16]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Pregnancy, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3235577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/pseuds/define_serenity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Uncharted 'Verse] Yet, about a week ago, in a torrent of lies revealed, unprecedented betrayal and losing a man who had been as close to her as a father, a big chunk of her had gone missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While the Rhythm of the Rain Keeps Time

**Author's Note:**

> I've been steadily falling head over heels in love with _Jet Pack Blues_ by Fall Out Boy and these lyrics have been begging me to do something with them. So here, have some angst, la la la.

 

_she’s in a long black coat tonight,_

_waiting for me in the downpour outside_

_she’s singing ‘baby, come home’ in a melody of tears_

_while the rhythm of the rain keeps time_

 

She walks.

The cab would only take her so far in the terrible downpour, lines of water weaving whimsical patterns down the windows, transforming the outside world into big blotches of color her own world lost about a week ago. Life went on though, as the life inside her proved, and streets clogged with cars coursing to their destination, their passengers set on arriving dry, foregoing the sidewalk for easier modes of transportation. But the streets could only swallow so many cars before traffic became a swamp.

“You sure you want to go out there, little lady?” the driver asked as she siphoned a twenty-dollar bill his way, his eyes intent on her through the rearview mirror.

She didn’t grant him an answer, simply scooted towards the door and wrestled her umbrella open, one hand automatically cradling her belly once she found herself standing by the side of the road, sewers unable to swallow all the water, specks of rain spritzing up her legs. Heels might’ve spared her clothing from soaking up too much water, but they stopped being an option as the baby girl inside her grew. It was odd how the outlines of her life steadily relocated to fit around this new life, this precious life, yet those lines moved without question. Soon she’d be a mother, and while big chunks of her questioned her own ability to raise a baby, just as many certainties lay scattered in between here and a few months from now. This baby already had all the love she could possibly give.

Yet, about a week ago, in a torrent of lies revealed, unprecedented betrayal and losing a man who had been as close to her as a father, a big chunk of her had gone missing.

So she walks.

She’s been down this road turned stream many times before. When she was five and her grandmother died she’d walked in between her mom and dad, short legs struggling to keep up, while her mom shed tears she didn’t understand. Years later she stood crying over an empty casket, mourning a fiancé who would return to her, lost and different, and leave her broken again. She’d buried a friend who died in front of her eyes. One time Barry had found her sitting by Ronnie’s grave, where she’d sought refuge after he’d discounted her feelings in favor of his own.

And then, every year since, they left flowers on two marked graves, etched deeper still into their hearts.

Nora Allen. Beloved mother.

Joe West. Devoted father.

She almost hates that she has to come find Barry here now, this stone-cold place, barren, soil soaked in tears of people left behind, abandoned. They came here together to honor the people they lost, to cleanse their hearts of guilt because weeks and months and years had slowly diluted their grief. Not to drown in sorrow alone.

The cemetery’s pitch black, save for the occasional lightning strike in the distance illuminating her path, so she treads carefully as the ground turns soggy beneath her feet. There’s a chill at the back of her neck despite the scarf she’s wrapped in, her sinuses assaulted by a crisp gust of air that leave them burning, but she pushes forward, blindly making her way to Nora’s grave.

And after she’s struggled through the mud, weaved through the other graves, taken a stubborn kick or two from the baby, her eyes fall to a figure a few feet away, the lack of light turning the red of his suit black, invariably white when lightning strikes, the rain marking every line and indentation. Barry stands shoulders slumped, head bowed, eyes closed. He seems small compared to the man she knows him to be, the man she will marry after the baby arrives.

“Barry,” she calls through the curtain of water, stumbling another step closer.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Barry says as he straightens his shoulders, followed by the screech of leather straining, something bunched together in Barry’s right hand. Her eyes trace along his shoulders, the fabric of his suit in tatters where his mask should be. He must have ripped it clean off.

Her eyes widen, words making their way to the tip of her tongue; _what happened_? _what did you do_? _what are you doing out here_?, but Cisco told her what happened, Barry told her what happened. And she gets it, she understands how betrayal must be slowly seeping its way into memories, loosening their foundations, coroding into questions that will never be answered. Who was Dr Wells really? Why had he lied to them? Why had he killed Nora?

She presses her lips together in a tight line. She shouldn’t poke at open wounds; unlike all the others Barry has sustained over the years these don’t heal by themselves. They may scab but the skin remains weak, sensitive, until the next event that rips right through.

“I haven’t seen you in three days,” she says, worry coiling around her words. Three days ago Barry went out to get paint for the nursery and completely went off the radar – he snatched his suit from the lab but switched off the gps tracker inside. No one had heard from him until some kid with a camera phone got a lucky shot of him running from a crime scene. Where has he been all this time?

“Barry,” she pleads. “Baby, please come home. We can talk about–”

Barry silences her with a scornful laugh, “What’s the point?” he asks, the question chasing ice down her veins.

 _The point?_ The point is Dr Wells turned out to be the very evil they were battling. The point is it all happened right in front of their noses and no one saw. The point is that Barry’s anger is her own and this sense of betrayal rages inside her all the same. The point is that if they’re meant to make sense of this, if they’re going to find a place for this in their lives, they need to be together, not miles apart.

Her jaw clenches with an old familiar anger. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

Barry whips his head around, drops of water dancing along with the movement. “He _betrayed_ me, Caitlin,” he sneers, his eyes at once fierce with anger as they are vulnerable, a mixture she’s seen him display far too often, the bob in his throat, lips moving around words he doesn’t utter, facing away from her again.

“He betrayed _all of us_ , Barry.” She trips a step closer, grabbing a hand around his arm, rain slipping under the cuff of her coat. “You don’t carry that alone.”

“I’ve been carrying my mother’s death for eighteen years.”

His voice sounds hollow, defeated, cold.

Her hand falls away again, back underneath the careful protection of her umbrella.

Above her, rain taps out a song she can’t recognize against the black nylon fabric.

“Not these past four,” her voice trembles but she keeps it calm. “Not those. Don’t you dare tell me there was no point.”

Tears soften her eyesight around the edges, a hand caressing around her belly, as if the back and forth of her hand is meant to comfort their unborn daughter. _She_ was the point. Them finding something real after she lost Ronnie, after Barry let go of Iris, in between angry outbursts and careless disregard, _that_ was the point. Harrison betraying them doesn’t erase all the good they’ve done, all the love they share, the life they created.

“I failed.” Barry shrugs. “I’m not the fastest man alive. I didn’t catch my mother’s killer. I’m just a guy struck by lightning who got fast on his feet.”

And she knows. She knows. In some twisted way Barry had started to believe he could save his mother, too.

“What about your dad?” she asks, her voice breaking. “He needs you. Cisco needs you, now more than ever. And Iris?” she adds, unable to name herself; call it ego, call it pride, she won’t stand here and remind him what they mean to each other.

“You want a reason to go on?” she asks, tears raining down her cheeks. “What about our daughter?”

Barry’s head snaps sideways fast enough to make it appear like a blur for a few infinitesimal seconds, his features soon sharpening again. “ _Daughter_?” he breathes, swallows hard, wide eyes skipping from hers to her swollen belly.

She wasn’t meant to tell him. She promised him not to. When they found out she was pregnant she worried and fussed about the baby until Barry agreed to the genetic screening – Barry’s DNA transformed because of the particle accelerator wave while hers had mutated and had been locked to keep her powers in check, so she had every right to worry. If she wasn’t so sure Dr Wells’ formula worked she wouldn’t have considered having a baby, afraid her own body would attack it. One closer look at their baby’s DNA, however, had told her all she needed to know. No genetic defects, nothing to indicate she had metahuman abilities. Just a beautiful healthy baby girl.

The results hadn’t stopped her worrying, her body was changing in variable and distinct ways; her breasts got bigger, she carried more weight, her back hurt along with her feet, but at least those were normal first-time parent worries. Concerns she shared with Barry to some degree. He’d had the privilege of being raised by not one but two amazing and dedicated fathers, yet he was terrified that he’d do something wrong She’d found him asleep on the couch nursing a book on parenting on more than one occasion.

But worrying was part of the process, part of the journey they were undertaking together, along with picking names for their unborn child. And they’d chosen two perfect names.

Nathan for a boy.

Nora for a girl.

Their daughter’s name will be Nora Allen-Snow.

“You’d abandon her too?” she challenges, too tired, too angry, too betrayed to approach him any other way. Sometimes Barry Allen needed to be told something. “I watched my mom leave, Barry Allen, and I am telling you right now–”

“Don’t,” Barry cuts her short, and finally faces her completely, his eyes downcast. He staggers a few steps closer, out of the rain beneath the large black umbrella. His hair is a mess and he’s visibly shaking, but he quietly reaches out both hands and cups her belly. “A girl?” he chokes.

She nods, eyes trained on his face, his tears indistinguishable. 

“I’m so sorry, Caitlin, I–” He bites at his lip and closes his eyes, and while the rhythm of the rain weaves into a melody she throws her arms around his neck, their hearts in sync, both hurting over what they lost, both longing for the life they made, both immeasurably in love.

“Please, don’t give up on me,” Barry cries into her shoulder, his wet suit drenching her clothes, seeping through all the layers she protected herself with. “I need you, baby. I need you.”

“I’m here.” She squeezes her eyes shut and lets him in, like she’s invariably learned to do over the past four years, four years of pain and heartache, but immense joy all the same, of love and friendship and healing. They’ve been making up for all the loss they suffered by living to the fullest, their baby proof that it hasn’t tore them down. That it never will.

Thunder sounds overhead, soon followed by a bright flash of lightning.

Barry pulls back, eyes catching on her lips. “You’re shaking.”

“So are you,” she says softly, any fight she had in her drained.

Barry lowers his forehead to hers.

“Take us home,” she whispers.

 

 

 

**\- fin -**

 


End file.
